Ghosts
by svenka
Summary: Ken finds himself the central point of a number of strange accidents.


"I'm not blaming you!" Omi urged, exasperated. The broken pot was leaking soil through his fingers, and every moment he stood still was another moment he'd spend cleaning the floor.

"Really? Because it sure as hell feels like it," Ken snapped, not looking up from his flower arrangement. Omi furrowed his brow, unsure of how his humble request for assistance had set his teammate off.

"All I wanted was some help cleaning it up. I didn't break it either, you know," the younger Weiss pouted, readjusting the pot in his grip. This turned out to be a bad idea. The pot, which had previously just been dripping soil through a crack in the bottom, split in half at the motion, dumping its contents onto the floor in a dark, root-embedded pile.

"Damnit!" Omi cursed, and then looked around self-consciously, making sure there weren't any customers to overhear his outburst. No, the shop was blissfully empty.

Ken, for his part, did nothing, continuing to try and force a rogue rhododendron into place.

"Fine. I'll get it. Again. This is really starting to get old, you know," Omi said tiredly, making his way out the back to throw away the empty shell of a pot and grab cleaning supplies.

"Like I said, not my fault," Ken replied moodily, accidentally snapping off the rhododendron's head in his frustration.

As he made his way over to the flower cooler for another, a table plant that he was _certain_ was at least a foot away suddenly snagged on his apron, tilting dangerously. His catlike reflexes managed to save this one, his hands jolting out to gently grip the base. His eyes shot guiltily toward the back door, making sure Omi hadn't seen it. No, the blond was still rummaging around in the back, thank God.

What Omi couldn't possibly realize was how unsettled these near-misses, and unfortunately, a few accidents, were making him. About a week ago, the immediate space around Ken had become a disaster area. Everything around him was a potential target. Yohji chalked it up to clumsiness. Aya, as usual, ignored the situation entirely. Omi helped him clean.

But that was the weird part. Ken _wasn't_ clumsy. Clumsy people didn't reach professional levels in soccer, thank you very much, much less become close-combat assassins.

He continued his way to the cooler, eyes darting in paranoia across his surroundings. It had to be a coincidence. Or a phase. He hadn't been sleeping well recently. What if it really _was_ his fault? The now-broken pot had been resting on the shelf right next to one that Ken had been fiddling with. He didn't remember bumping or shifting it closer to the edge, but there was no other explanation.

The fact that he was halfway across the room when it fell didn't absolve him of guilt.

Heaving a defeated sigh, he paused with his hand on the cooler handle, and then turned around, looking at the back door. Omi was just coming out, broom and dust pan in hand.

"Sorry, Omi," Ken said dejectedly. "It's just all this weird shit lately. I'm starting to think I'm haunted or somethi-"

Omi was moving with supernatural speed, hands outstretched, before Ken even had a chance to see the cooler's dramatically shifting shadow. The youngest Weiss gripped his collar, jerking him forward. The large glass-fronted case barely nicked his shoulder as it fell, landing with a sickening _crunch_ on the shop floor. Tiny pieces of glass and plant matter shot out from the face-down cooler, sliding out across the floor.

"I… I barely touched it," Ken said meekly, mind going through images of the same scene without Omi's interference.

"Ken…" Omi frowned, his brow furrowed with anxiety, "I think we should talk to someone."

Ken took the broom and dustpan from Omi's hands and beginning the arduous process of cleaning up the shattered cooler, and then stopped, standing up suddenly. His knuckles were white against the broom handle "Omi! I figured it out!"

The blond's eyes widened with interest, "Really? What is it?"

The brunette looked back at him, expression serious. "It's Kase! It has to be! Think about it: what else could possibly cause all these issues without leaving a single shred of evidence? And who else would want me dead?"

Omi's expression turned inward, considering. "I guess… Maybe we should get a psychic or something to come in?"

Ken nodded, excited to be working on the problem. Ignoring it wasn't doing him any good, after all. And if it _was_ Kase, it shouldn't be too hard to convince him to cross over. He felt that instinctively.

Whistling to himself, he started cleaning again, happily sweeping up the soggy glass pieces.

Schuldig leaned back in his seat, a mixture of amusement and frustration pulling at his face.

"So?" Nagi asked, eyebrows raised.

"Ghosts."

The boy's expression darkened, "Ghosts?"

"Yup. Appears that they're just as dense as we expected."

"Well, I have to admit, I'm glad. I'm not sure how you talked me into this in the first place," Nagi huffed, propping his chin on his palm and staring out the window. Across the street, the blurry form of someone sweeping could be seen through the flower shop window.

"Aw, come on. It's been too quiet lately, and you know it."

"True, but that doesn't mean we should _start_ trouble."

"Says the kid who just pulled a glass container down on him."

"_Almost._ I knew it wouldn't land on him. And that was _your_ idea," Nagi growled, eyes narrowing.

"Hey, I never said it was a good one," Schuldig chuckled, revving the engine to life. "Maybe we should leave a sign or something next time, like the Joker's calling card. All villains have one."

"Oh, come on. Grow up," the boy said impartially, but Schuldig could feel the waves of interest rolling beneath the surface of his conscious.

"Hey, I have a good friend who's a psychic. Maybe we could convince her to pop over to the Koneko, hn?"

Nagi raised an eyebrow, "You mean… _her_?"

Schuldig grinned broadly, eyes narrowing with perverse pleasure, "Well, you can't say it wouldn't be entertaining."

"Nn," Nagi murmured. Well, that certainly wasn't a disagreement.

Schuldig peeled off down the street without a backwards glance, already planning the next phase of his self-proclaimed mission.


End file.
